Rep. Al Green, Scott Turner, And Black On Blackface Crime
Rep. Al Green just gave a masterclass on how to treat a Black man who shows up to a congressional hearing wearing blackface. The Black on blackface crime happened as the Department of Housing and Urban Development Secretary Scott Turner testified before the House Financial Services Committee.
“Do you believe that racism exists in housing?” Green asked Turner to start his questioning.
It wasn’t a shouting match, it wasn’t theatrics, and it wasn’t disrespectful. It was accountability. And the reason it felt so devastating is that it was Black on Black crime in the most uncomfortable sense of the phrase — not violence, but exposure.
Al Green didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t posture. He didn’t insult Turner’s background or question his intelligence. He did something far more lethal in Washington: he reminded a Black man in power who he was supposed to be serving — and who he was actually serving instead.
That’s the part people don’t like to talk about.
“Do you believe that racism exists in housing?”
This is a snowball question for any self-respecting person who is unafraid to admit the obvious. In 2024, there were some 32,000 complaints based on race, nationality, or disability discrimination, the highest number in over two decades. Homes in majority-Black neighborhoods continue to be appraised and undervalued compared to homes in majority-white neighborhoods. Even when credit scores, income, and years on the job prove to be the same as their white counterparts, Black and Latino people continue to face higher denial rates for mortgages.
But Scott Turner is an agent for white supremacy. He’s a Black face that spouts white nationalistic principalities and statistics. He’s a Black man who doesn’t seem to care about Black people and couldn’t even answer, when questioned by Green, whether or not racism exists in housing.
Hell, you know who could’ve answered this easily? President Donald Trump. He and his father, Fred Trump, and their Trump Management Inc. were sued by the Department of Justice for refusing to rent Trump-owned apartments to Black people.
So it’s important to understand that what Green was asking Turner, Black man to Black man in blackface, wasn’t whether the head of HUD, an agency whose very mission is tied to whether Black people live in stable homes or are pushed further into precarity, believed racism affected housing, it was whether he was brave enough to admit it.
Let me spoil it for you: He wasn’t.
What Green was really asking Turner to admit was an acknowledgement of all the systemic ways in which white supremacy has sought to prevent Black housing. To admit that redlining boxed our grandparents into neighborhoods the government deemed as unworthy of investment. Or to at the very least acknowledge the restrictive covenants that made it illegal for Black families to buy homes in certain areas?
Green wasn’t looking for Turner to cite case law; he just wanted the head of HUD to tell the truth. Every policy choice HUD makes reverberates through Black communities first and hardest. Al Green knows that. Scott Turner knows that, too — or at least he should.
Which is why Green’s dismantling of Turner landed the way it did.
This was a beatdown, but not in the conventional sense. Green didn’t raise his voice or berate the head of HUD. He simply addressed a Cabinet official and said, You are failing the people who look like you, and you are doing it politely, in a suit, with bipartisan language. And that kind of failure cuts deeper than overt racism because it comes wrapped in familiarity.
Because white supremacy doesn’t survive without Black faces willing to do its bidding. It’s not just needed, it’s expected. It’s telling that during Trump’s first presidency, Dr. Ben Carson, a world-renowned brain surgeon, was tasked with leading HUD, an area in which he had no expertise. And now Turner. Two Black men who don’t connect or resonate with Black people. When harm is delivered by someone who shares your history, your culture, your ancestors’ struggles, it hits different.
That’s what made this moment “Black on Black crime” in the truest sense: Green exposed Turner as a willing participant in policies that maintain inequality while insulating himself with representation. What Green was asking him was if he was willing to care for his people or his job (upholding white supremacy), and Turner couldn’t even bring himself to answer the question. Because Turner’s job isn’t to disrupt the system, it’s to ask the system if he can warm its bed.
That’s why the moment felt so heavy. Because Green wasn’t seeking information — he was demanding recognition. He was asking Turner to stand in truth, even if it made the room uncomfortable. Especially if it made the room uncomfortable.
In Black spaces, that kind of question isn’t rhetorical. It’s a test of alignment. A check-in. A quiet but piercing where are you really at?
And Scott Turner’s answer told Al Green (and the rest of us) everything he needed to know.
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